


Faith, Hope, Love and Luck

by Chiisanafukuro (makuro)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: AU, Dnd Inspired, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Sheith Big Bang 2019, paladin!shiro, tiefling!keith
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:34:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22167916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makuro/pseuds/Chiisanafukuro
Summary: Shiro and the Sir Holt come across a young tiefling in need of a better life.Little did he know that saving this one, would save his own.
Relationships: Allura/Lance (Voltron), Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 133
Collections: Sheith Big Bang 2019





	Faith, Hope, Love and Luck

**Author's Note:**

> Fic inspired by the wonderful Nessie's [artwork](https://twitter.com/nessietime/status/1215136736998776833?s=21) for Sheith Big Bang 2019! She wanted a hurt/comfort tale to go along her her amazing high fantasy idea!! I had a lot of fun working on this and was def inspired by my own DnD exploits.

Shiro smacked his hand against his neck for what felt like the millionth time that very minute. “Why are we going through the swamplands during high summer again, Sir?” 

Sir Holt chuckled, looking fondly back at his squire. “Because we were asked out to help with a petty thief they’ve had trouble catching.”

Matt, Sir Holt’s son, looked quizzically at his father. “If it’s just a petty thief, aren’t we a bit much?” 

“We could be,” Sir Holt agreed. “But there are times when little issues require a bigger hand to help, when there are moments of true exasperation when people feel that they have lost so much control they’ll ask the gods themselves to open a door for them. And if we are not benevolent servants of Our Goddess, then are we truly Her Paladins doing Her work?” 

Shiro swatted at two mosquitoes that landed on his arm. “I could do her work without all of the bug bites, if it were an option.” 

Sir Holt laughed good-naturedly, like he always did. “It is not, and we must bear with the itchiness.” 

The Swamplands were possibly Shiro’s least favorite place to be, despite not having been in them long. Sir Holt had been called out to them for help with a local thief that had been eluding capture. The town that had called on him was located deep within the swamps on floating rafts. Upon arrival the chief of the town had informed them that Sir Holt had taken too long getting there and he’d already sent out some of his ‘boys’ to take care of the thief and bring back his hand. Sir Holt had assured the chief that he would still go and see what aid he could give, and they had left the town for the nearby forest, much to Shiro’s delight. 

“Are we really going to take his hand, dad?” Matt asked, clearly not all right with the idea at all. Shiro wasn’t either if he was being honest with himself. 

“No,” Sir Holt said. “Not unless he proves to actually deserve that, but from what I’ve heard today, and I’m sure you both agree, he’s been stealing what he needs to survive, not what he wants. It’s all been food, and last winter warm things. I think we are dealing with a scared, homeless youth. Not some devil.” He picked up the pace once they left the town proper and the marshlands became easier to traverse. 

The forest close to the town was sloping and difficult to navigate without good footing. That was where the thief had been hiding out, among the trees and other foliage to better hide himself, the tracks of the other men who had chased him though were easy to spot and they followed them though to the wetland forest. They heard shouting long before they saw them, and when they did Shiro’s blood boiled at the sight. There was a small figure on the ground being kicked at and shoved around, whimpering in distress as they tried to fight back against six huge men. There was little the thief could do though with those odds. 

Shiro had been told, that when there was something wrong to be righted he could be reckless. Sir Holt was his teacher in patience and assessing a situation before he rushed into it blind and swinging. Thus far Shiro had been studious, proud even of his progress in what he was able to exert in the realm of self control. 

This was not one of those proud moments. 

He charged, a vicious yell on his tongue, and swung at one of the men. They went down hard. The others rushed him, turning from their target to the new attacker, and Shiro did not hold back. He was a skilled fighter, and larger than most men, at seventeen summers. It was short work to knock the them to the ground where they would stay for a spell. 

Still sprawled in the dirt, the thief turned and looked up at Shiro with hard, distrustful eyes. Now that they weren’t curled in on themselves in defense, he could see that this was no normal person. 

Lavender skin, the buds of thick horns, yellow eyes and a long tail, curled close. A tiefling, young, and very battered. He was thin, clothes hanging off of him awkwardly for both their size and his slightness. His lips were curled back in a snarl, revealing sharp canines. He was fierce, and in a way beautiful, Shiro thought. 

Shiro caught his breath and tried to pull a smile onto his face, extending his hand to the tiefling. “Hi,” he said. “I’m Shiro, I’m here to help.” He leaned forward onto a knee, crouching as best he could while keeping his posture open and inviting. 

The tiefling shied back, arm up over himself in defense. He spat out something in a language that Shiro recognized but didn’t understand. He was surprised it wasn’t undercommon. 

“What are you doing!” One of the thugs was pushing himself up to glare at Shiro. “He’s a thief and a monster! Get _him_!” 

“All I see is one lad being beat up by several without fair trial or sentence,” Shiro said to the man cooly, not sparing him a glance. “It’s all right, we’re not going to hurt you, we just want to talk and find out what’s going on.” 

“He’s robbing us!” The man hollered. 

Shiro heard Sir Holt started to speak to the man in a low, authoritative voice, and Shiro refocused entirely on the tiefling. “I didn’t understand what you said, do you speak common?”

“If I wanted you to understand it, I would have said it in common.” His voice was rough, from disuse or the beating Shiro wasn’t sure. 

“Ah,” Shiro pulled his hand back. “I understand you might not want to trust me, but I do mean it. I’m a Paladin of the Goddess, I can’t lie.” 

“You can.” The tiefling sniffed, eyes averting Shiro’s. “Everyone can lie, even if they say they aren’t.” 

Shiro considered, and, given the circumstances, sat down across from the tiefling. “You’re right. They can. But I’m not, I know that doesn’t mean a lot, but will you give me a chance to prove it to you? At the very least you can see I don’t want to completely bash you into the ground. I just want to know what your story is.” 

There was no change in posture or expression on the tiefling’s part. Shiro sighed, and curled over himself, bracing his elbows on his knees. “All right then,” he said. “We’ll prove it to you.” 

Sir Holt and Matt rounded up the rest of the townsmen and Sir Holt laid into them about taking justice into their own hands, pointing out all of the signs that this was an individual in need of help, not punishment. They didn’t seem too receptive to what they were told, but Sir Holt was a paladin of The Goddess, and they had no choice but to listen to his authority. 

Shiro sat with the tiefling, waiting and watching. He eventually sat up all the way and curled in on himself, head tucked into his knees and eyes never leaving Shiro. They were bright violet, set in the warm yellow, amethysts in amber. Shiro didn’t know what grabbed him so about the youth, but something did, his ferocity, his stare, he wasn’t sure. But there was a spark in him that Shiro couldn’t unsee. 

The townsmen limped off with Matt, shooting disgusted looks at them both as they went. Sir Holt came and wearily sat down beside Shiro, rubbing a hand over his face. “You know,” he started. “You’re supposed to asses and react with tact, with patience, before you rush in like that.”

“I know,” Shiro said. “I’m sorry, master. I just… couldn’t stop, not when there were six of them and one of him. That’s not justice, it’s vengeance.” 

“True,” Sir Holt agreed. “But it still doesn’t mean we exact violence back. Now.” He turned to the tiefling. “What is your story?” 

“No much,” the boy shrugged. “Dead dad. No home. Just trying to keep alive.” “And no one thought to take you in?” Sir Holt asked gently. 

The tiefling shook his head. 

“Well, that more than explains why you’ve been stealing to get by. While I cannot condone it, the price asked of you for your misdeeds is too steep, in my option. What say you, Shiro?” 

Shiro grunted in agreement, not trusting himself to not launch into a tirade about right and wrong when it came to orphaned children. 

“How old are you?” 

“Almost twelve summers,” he said. 

Sir Holt considered this. “Not too much younger than my oldest then. Can you work? Do you have any skills?”

The tiefling picked at his threadbare clothes and kept his eyes averted. “I can fight some and I can hunt. I can read and write too, and I can speak Undercommon a little bit.”

“Good, we could use more hands around the keep, if you can accept penance in the form of service?” Sir Holt smiled kindly. “Let me give you a proper home, and in return, help us around the keep.” 

Shiro smiled, he knew what it was like to help around the keep, which was little hardship at all. The jovial Holts and all in their service would dote on the poor tiefling, he was sure of it. 

After a long moment, the tiefling nodded. “Okay.”

“Excellent, but one more thing.” 

The tiefling shrank again, like he’d been waiting for the other shoe to drop. “What is it?” 

“I’ll need your name, lad,” Sir Holt said kindly. 

He shifted uncomfortably, clearly having an internal debate. Eventually he looked up, eyes bright and determined. 

“I’m Keith.” 

That night when they made camp, Shiro sat next to the boy, encouraging him to eat and trying everything he could to get him to open up. Nothing doing, the boy was too distrustful after what had to have been years of fending for himself. 

Shiro nearly gave up, but when he turned to stare at the ground the Goddess provided an answer. He plucked it up quickly and presented it to Keith. 

“What?” Keith frowned and looked from Shiro to what was in his outstretched hand. “It’s a clover.” 

“With four leaves,” Shiro said, grinning. “It’s a sign of fortune.” He held it out and pointed to each leaf. “See, the first is for faith, the second hope. The third is love, and the fourth, that one is _luck_. A sure sign your fortune has changed, Keith.” He held it out for Keith. 

Keith swallowed and gingerly took the clover, looking at carefully. He glanced up at Shiro. “Thank you, but I don’t know if this is enough.” 

Shiro smiled. “Well,” he said. “Even if you don’t think it is, I do, and I’m not in the business of giving up hope. So, for both of us, I won’t give up on you.” 

Keith didn’t say anything, but he did scoot a little closer to Shiro when they sat by the fire that night, still clutching the four leaf clover. 

* * *

Morning air crept through the window, cold and penetrating. Shiro shrank against it into his bed and tried to tune out the sounds of the keep stirring all around him. The bed was warm, autumn was cold and growing colder, and he did not want to get up and help clear the training arena for the day. Not just yet at least. 

He was just about to doze back off for a few more glorious minutes when his door slammed open and a body flung itself onto him. 

“Wake up you lazy squire!” 

Shiro sputtered and tried to get his breath back while an angry mass squirmed atop him. “I am not a squire anymore, Pidge!” He got his hands under him and surged up, bucking her off. 

She squealed and flung her arms out around his neck. “You’re still a squire if you can’t get up on time!” 

“She’s right,” a rough, honey voice chuckled from the doorway. “You’ll never get any rank if you don’t leave your bed.”

Shiro hauled himself all the way up and dislodged Pidge. “You know, for an _actual_ squire, you’re being a bit cheeky to your superior.” 

In the doorway Keith cracked a grin, eyes crinkling at the corners. He’d grown so much since they’d first found him in the woods, no longer a gangly boy but near a full grown man at seventeen summers. His horns were long, starting to truly curl over his head, raven hair tied in a thick braid down his shoulder. He could hold his own against Shiro in combat now, and his latent magic ability was starting to grow in prodigious ways. Shiro was proud of him, and all that he had done since coming to the keep. 

“Come on, old man, I’ve got a biscuit and bacon here for you, and we need to get started.” Keith held up said biscuit, torn in half with thick slabs of bacon wedged between. 

Shiro stood and strode to the door, taking the biscuit. “Give me five minutes to ready and I’ll be down.” 

Keith nudged him. “Sure, and I’ll be back up in ten when you try to shut your eyes again. Come on, Pidge.” 

Pidge sprang up and poked Shiro’s sides as she went. “No sleeping, Shiro!” 

“Don’t drop your shoulder,” Shiro called, watching Keith take practice swings with the great sword. He was better with his knife, which was admittedly large for a knife, but had expressed an interest in learning with other weapons. Despite all that he’d grown, Keith was still not quite up to the stature of Shiro, and fumbled with the great sword more than he would with another weapon. 

Keith growled and dropped the weapon to his side, rolling his shoulders. “Why does your sword have to be so damn _heavy_?” His eyes cut over to Shiro in a mock glare. 

The sight still arrested Shiro sometimes, they had ever since that first day. Keith’s eyes were gorgeous—swirling starlight violet set in that warm yellow. “Because,” he shouted, “I’m twice your size. I keep telling you to train for agility, lean into what you’re good at.” 

Keith rolled his eyes and started the practice swings up again, muscles heaving beneath his lithe form. He’d forgone his shirt nearly a half hour past, and Shiro was doing his best to not notice it every few minutes. 

Seven years with Keith and Shiro had only grown more fascinated by him each day. Keith was wickedly smart, with a cunning tongue used only sparingly, usually more content to lean back and observe. He was sarcastic and quick witted with a compassionate heart. There wasn’t a town they went to where he wasn’t helping the street children, giving them all the food and coin he could. 

He drew when he wasn’t practicing with every blade he got his hands on, and stared up into the stars long after sleep was due. Shiro stared with him more than not, transfixed by the blaze of light across the night sky. Some nights they fell asleep against each other, only to awkwardly wake hours later and trudge to their own rooms. 

Matt teased that he’d developed a crush on the young tiefling. Shiro usually shoved him away with a hand to the face when he did. Keith was a brother in arms, a friend, nothing more. 

That was getting harder and harder to tell himself though as Keith passed eighteen and began to fill out into a man, harder and harder not to look like he was right then at the powerful body and beautiful face. 

Shiro closed his eyes and rubbed a hand over them, wondering just when he stopped seeing Keith as the youth they’d rescued and instead as someone who haunted his best dreams. 

“Shiro!” 

He was saved from his tumultuous thoughts by Sir Holt striding to him, parchment in hand. A job then, which meant time on the road with Keith in tow, close quarters, and more chances for these errant feelings to make him slip up. “Master Holt,” he called. “What news?” 

Holt came up to him and handed the paper over solemnly. “News from the Garrison. Zarkon’s clan is on the move again, this time attacking the outskirts of Arus. We’ve been called to serve as protection for village evacuations effective immediately.”

Shiro hummed as he skimmed the contents of the missive. “Not to fight?” 

“No,” Holt said. “Not unless we have to, they think their numbers are sufficient. Not to mention our order is not one of battle, Shiro. The Garrison will respect that as long as they can.” 

“Right, well, let’s all get ready.” He opened his mouth to yell at Keith to pack, but was stopped by a hand on his arm. He frowned and looked to Holt. 

“Keith will stay here,” Holt said carefully. “Zarkon’s Galra are tiefling similar in look to Keith. I don’t think it would be safe, or wise, for him to come this time. Once we reach the refugee camps we can call him to help, but if there is an attack, I do not want him needlessly mistaken for the enemy.” 

Shiro swallowed and looked back to his friend. Keith would not like this, not one bit, but Sir Holt was right—if they were wading into Galra raiding ground, Keith would only be in danger from those trying to protect their homes who might see him as another threat. 

“I’ll tell him,” Shiro said. Better to let him rage at Shiro than silently seethe at Sir Holt. 

Holt snorted. “Good luck.” 

Predictably Keith was not pleased with the decision. Shiro flinched as he started yelling again, this time about prejudices and corrupt leaders ruining lives of people because of their power lust. 

“Do they even care that they’re living up to every bad thing ever said about tieflings? Or that this will only end in them being crushed, a black bloodstain on history itself? How can people so easily just—augh!” He kicked over a stool, then immediately righted it and sat down on it. “I could wear a mask.” 

“No, Keith,” Shiro said for the millionth time. “I agree with Sir Holt, if there is a surprise battle, we don’t want you caught in it in confusion. It’s safer for you to stay behind or head to the refugee camps immediately. You’ll be of use there, and a helpful tiefling face in a safe camp will go farther than having you run fighting into their villages.” 

Keith braced his elbows on his knees and hung his head. “You’re right,” he said slowly. “I know you’re right, but I hate not being able to have your back.”

“Keith.” Shiro felt his heart tug at the statement. “You have to know by now you don’t _owe_ me, or Sir Holt, anything. We’ve never wanted you to pay us back for bringing you here.”

“It’s not…” Keith growled low in the back of his throat. When he looked up his gaze was raw, almost anguished. “You know that isn’t why, Shiro. You _have_ to.” 

Shiro sucked in a breath. He did know, in his gut he knew what Keith was alluding to, and it was all of those emotions he did everything he could to push away. It was the looks Keith returned, the small smiles and brushes of hands that let Shiro know he was not alone in his growing feelings, and that scared him all the more. 

“Shiro, I lo—“

“Keith.” His stopped Keith’s confession with a hand to his shoulder. “Keith I…” he searched those gorgeous eyes and tried to find the right words. The right way to do this. “I know. I do know. But not yet.”

“Why—“

“Just.” Shiro sighed. “Not yet. But maybe… when I get back we should finally speak about this.” He couldn’t help it, he cupped Keith’s jaw and rubbed a thumb over his soft cheek, the sensation sure to carry him through the cold nights head. “I promise. Patience yields focus after all.” They both giggled at the phrase, uttered a million times to them both by Sir Holt. 

Keith swallowed tightly and reached up to wrap long fingers around Shiro’s wrist. “All right, Shiro. Wait, here.” He quickly reached into his pocket and pulled out a simple piece of wood on a chord. “I made this, for luck.” 

Shiro took it gingerly in his hand, now seeing that the wood was more delicately carved than the low light had let on. It was a four leaf clover, etched beautifully and threaded on a sturdy leather chord. “Keith… thank you.” Shiro slipped it over his head and tucked the clover into his shirt, against his heart. 

Keith followed its path and softly pressed a hand over where it fell, feeling it through the cloth of Shiro’s shirt. “Stay safe, Shiro.” 

The ambush on Kerb Village was not expected at all. Every report had positioned the Galra forces and raiding parties well north of them. 

Shiro choked on the smoke filling his lungs from the burning buildings, acrid and thick. All around him people were screaming as Galra soldiers stormed through the village, capturing and plundering as they went. Shiro cut down who he could, but the last skirmish had left him with a deep wound across his face and another along his side. He was dragging, and he knew that the next opponents would be life or death. 

A cry sounded from his right and he ran as fast as he could, terrified of what he would find, for he knew that voice. 

On the ground, on the other side of a burning shack, was Matt, sprawled under a Galra boot. Sir Holt was laid out beside him, unconscious or dead Shiro could not tell. 

The soldier hadn’t noticed him yet and he charged, slamming into them and knocking them away from Matt. He engaged immediately, not sparing a glance back as he shouted, “Get out of here!” 

He prayed the noises he heard was Matt picking up his father and running. He kept his eyes on the soldier in front of him, going hard on the offensive and just barely taking them down. 

Blood was getting into his eyes and his head was spinning. He didn’t know how much he had left in him. The disorientation kept him from noticing the huge tiefling that had crept up behind him, knocking him hard in the back and sending him sprawling to the ground. 

“A paladin,” a gruff voice said from above him. He was hauled up by one arm and punched solidly in the gut, aggravating the wound on his side and knocking all the strength he had left from his body. “Haggar will be pleased with you.” 

Shiro managed to see the face of the Galra soldier, massive and smiling cruelly, scar cutting across one side of his face, good eye narrowed on Shiro. 

It was the last thing he saw before he was knocked out cold.

* * *

Keith should have known that the daylight would bring him no comfort from the nightmares he’d had. The war had stripped him of all the good and warmth that had grown in his heart over the last seven years with the Holts. Too many families ripped apart at the seams by greed and warmongering turned him cold to the rest of the world. If this was the Goddess’s plan, he wasn’t sure he wanted to be in her service after all. 

It had been three weeks since he’d last seen Shiro, riding off with Sir Holt to help evacuate and push back the Galra raiding parties. Keith had found himself praying to the gods every night and morning for Shiro and the Holts safe return. He forgot that ‘no’ could still be an answer. 

Sir Holt and Matt drug themselves into the refugee camp with a handful of half-burnt villagers. Shiro was nowhere in sight. 

Keith ignored his duties to the refugees and sprinted across the field, eyes frantically searching for a head of raven hair tied back into a bun, and the gleam of a great sword. Somewhere. _Anywhere_. 

“Where’s—where’s Shiro?” He asked, barely breathed as he looked at the Holts. 

They looked at each other, and then Sam looked away, shame on his face. Matt took it upon himself to utter the words that shattered Keith’s world. 

“Shiro was taken.” 

“Keith you can’t do this.” 

“Watch me,” he growled. The moment of shock and wild, visceral rage had passed. Matt had not attempted to calm Keith down or stem his grief, but now he was trying to stand in Keith’s way, keep him from packing his bags and going _out there_ to find Shiro. 

“Keith you’ll get yourself killed, and even if—look, that would be the _last_ thing Shiro wanted, for you to get hurt hotheadedly rushing after him. Do you even have a plan? A solid _heading_? If they took Shiro prisoner then who knows where Sendak went from the village.” 

“I don’t care, I’m going to find him,” Keith snapped. It was ridiculous. No search party, no plan to rescue or even attempt to search for Shiro to get him back. Just the assumption that he’d been captured and thus killed. 

That was unacceptable. “I thought he was a brother to you,” Keith spat at Matt. 

“He is, but Keith this isn’t something we can rush into. It has to be an approved mission with information, sources, something to go off of other than a last location and willpower.” 

Keith ignored Matt and crammed more into his rucksack. At any rate it wouldn’t hurt. “Shiro would have come for us. It wouldn’t have stopped him.” 

“He also would have a _plan._ Keith!” 

Keith shoved past Matt and out of his tent, rucksack slung over his shoulder. His horse, Scarlet, was tied up a few yards away. He didn’t need a plan, he just needed a lead, and he had that in the direction of the village Shiro had been taken at. 

“We don’t even know if they kept him _alive_. Keith!” 

He untied Scarlet and mounted her. Matt was still standing at his tent entrance, eyes wide and pleading. “I have to,” Keith said. “I have to, Matt.” 

He rode into the night, shutting out the frantic shouts behind him. 

The next morning while he poured over maps and took stock of what supplies he was actually able to grab, a horse rode up to his meager campfire. 

He was ready to defend himself, to fight if he had to, for his right to find Shiro. It wasn’t either of the Holts he expected on the back of the dappled mare.

Pidge jumped down from the horse, her boots landing hard in the dirt. She looked at Keith with fire in her eyes. “Keith—“

“I’m not going back,” he said. He clutched his knife in his hand. He loved Pidge, but he’d fight her if he had to. He wasn’t going to leave Shiro. 

“No shit,” she spat. “I’m coming with you.” 

Keith opened his mouth to keep arguing, but his brain caught up with what she’d said. “I—wait _what_?” 

“Shiro is like a brother to me,” she said. “He’s family. I don’t know what kind of greater-good nonsense my brother and father are on, but like hell we’re leaving him behind without trying to save him.” She sat down across the campfire from him. “Where to first?” 

Keith stared at her, bewildered. For too long apparently, because she got up, reached over him, and started to trace out routes on the map herself, muttering about useless lovesick idiots. 

Keith snapped out of it. “I am not lovesick.”

Pidge didn’t even spare him a glance, just snorted and kept tracing a path along the map. “We should supply properly here,” she said, pointing at the base of the West Spike, a great hulking mountain on the edge of Altea and skirting the border where Galra raging parties had pushed. “I can get alchemy books to study from, and you can get a magic book for spells.” 

Keith swallowed. “I don’t know what you’re—“

“Save it, I’ve seen you playing with the candles, messing with other shit. You’re coming into some magic and you’re going to have to figure that out, soon, or you’re liable to kill us both.” 

Keith crossed his arms. “I haven’t said you can come with me yet,” he muttered. 

“Didn’t plan on waiting for permission. How long do you think it’ll take us to get to Arus?” 

* * *

Keith rolled behind a rock and curled there, muttering an incantation under his breath while the troll raged just the other side of his hiding place. He hoped the dumb beast hadn’t seen him dodge behind it. 

In his hands a fire sparked and coiled, turning into a fireball the size of his head. He poured himself into it, willing it to get bigger, but he was almost tapped out. With a roar he rose from his place and hurled the fire at the troll. 

It hit, slamming into the creature and engulfing it in spreading flames. While it wailed and writhed, two bolts lodged themselves in it’s throat and it went down hard, shaking the ground with its weight. 

“Gods above!” Came a shout from the other side of the field. “I _told_ you not to try and hunt in the eastern woods, but did you listen? Noooo, of course not!” 

Keith groaned and let his head fall onto the rock. “Goddess strike me dead.” 

The bemoaning continued until it was right in his ear. “But you just _had_ to prove yourself, had to show that silly old Lance doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Look who’s laughing now, horn-head!” 

“Shut. Up. Lance.” Keith didn’t want to admit Lance was right, not when the prick was crowing above him like he was. 

“Do you _want_ to die before we save Shiro? I think you do, then you won’t have to confess—ouch!” Lance yelped and another set of footsteps approached. 

“You know, I hate it when Lance is right, but he was right here, Keth,” Pidge said, her voice solemn. “He does have excellent tracking abilities.”

“He’s got excellent skills in being obnoxious,” Keith groused. When he looked up from his moping spot, Lance was glaring down at him and Pidge was fighting a smile. 

“This is why _I’m_ going to the the Paladin who saves Shiro,” Lance said. 

Keith was regretting more and more not sneaking off the night Lance stumbled upon their mission and declared he was coming with them to save the fabled Sir Shirogane. 

* * *

Hunk was a happy accident. 

They had holed up at a town for the night, Pidge trying to find ingredients for what she was dubbing a ‘cloaking bomb’ and Keith didn’t want to ask too many questions. 

Somewhere around midnight she’d stumbled back into their room, waking both him and Lance with a start, telling them they needed to get up _right now_ and help her save her new friend. 

Lance, perfect and annoying Paladin of the Goddess, sprang up and followed her right out. Keith did the same but only because he knew that if he didn’t go he’d worry, because this was _Pidge_ and she was very good at getting herself into situations that were mildly over her head. 

They ended up out the back of a tavern, two large men towering over another formidable form and threatening him greatly. 

“You didn’t think we’d notice that little lass you were talking up steal the bottle? You didn’t think that we wouldn’t take it out of your pay, or _you_?”

Keith elbowed Pidge where they were crouched behind a cart. “You _stole_ something?”

“No!” Pidge hissed. “I was going to make the bomb and then come back and negotiate pricing based on how much I actually used!”

“Why didn’t you just buy the _whole bottle_!” 

“Guys!” 

There was a thwacking sound as one of the bigger guys hit the shorter man and Lance gestured wildly at the scene, trying to convey whatever plan was running through his head. Keith looked at Pidge who shrugged. 

Resigned, Lance sighed and sprang out from behind the cart, blade drawn. “What seems to be the trouble here good sirs? I’m sure a Paladin of the Goddess can—ack!” 

The thug that wasn’t landing hits on Pidge’s bartender friend had grabbed Lance up by the throat.

“Fucks sake,” Keith muttered. He sparked fire to life in his palms and rushed out brandishing it at the two men while Pidge followed at his back with her crossbow. 

“We want no trouble,” Keith called. “But release our friends and we’ll give you the gold owed without issue.” 

“You think we want the gold of a _thief?”_

Pidge crowded forward. “I’m not a thief! I was using the alcohol in an experiment! I was going to pay for the amount I used once I was done! I was out here with it the whole time!” 

The two men frowned and then burst into laughter. “Who do you think you are little girl, an _alchemist_?” One of the guffawed. 

Pidge dropped her crossbow to one hand and reached into her pack. “As a matter of fact,” she pulled out a small glass orb and slammed it on the ground. Thick blue smoke poured out and covered the ground, obscuring everything from sight. “I am.” 

Something smack against Keith’s arm and suddenly he could see through the smoke. When he looked down there was a patch covered in runes stuck there by Pidge, who was grinning up at him. 

They took down the two men easily in the confusion and haze, freeing Lance and the bartender. 

“Come on,” Keith whispered. “We have to get out of here, I don’t think we can stay at the inn tonight either.” 

“You’re skipping town? I’m coming with you,” the bartender said. “I’m sick of it here. Their head chef is an atrocity of a cook and I want to see what she gets up to with the rest of her crazy ideas.” He grinned at Pidge. 

“Fine, whatever.” Keith moved to get out of there, the smoke was starting to clear now and he could hear other voices, but the big guy grabbed his arm. “ _What_?” 

The guy smiled, “Give me one second.” He disappeared and returned with a huge crate in his arms, coming toward them at a jog. “Go! Go! Go!” 

They ran. 

It was dawn by the time they made it out of town unseen and set up camp deep in the forest. Keith was ready to lay into both Pidge and their new tagalong, but then the man opened up the crate. 

“Is that—“

“ _No way!_ ” Lance gasped. 

“Olkari blessed wine? Why yes, yes it is,” the bartender said. “They didn't’ get it by very nice means so I don’t really feel bad about this.”

“We stole it from people who stole it, you mean?” Keith said. He stared at the pearlescent liquid that sloshed in their growlers. “I can’t fault that.” 

“I’ll overlook it,” Lance sniffed. “What’s your name, anyway?” 

“Hunk,” the man said, holding out a brown, weathered hand. “Nice to meet you all, Pidge was talking about your mission with me a bit in the bar. You’re on a quest to save Sir Shirogane?” 

“You know him too!” Lance crowed. “We are, we’re going to rescue him from the clutches of the evil Tiefling empire—no offense Keith.” 

Keith growled under his breath and turned to lay out his pallet, only half listening as the three bonded over the campfire, Hunk’s place among them. 

Keith turned to look at the stars, familiar constellations filling his vision and taking him back to warm nights on the Keep’s rooftop with Shiro, arms pressed close. 

He closed his eyes to their brilliance and curled in on himself, a faint prayer on his lips. “Be safe. Be strong, my love.”

* * *

They traveled north, wanting to get to the shoreline and traverse that way deeper into Galra. Keith had no heading, nothing to track, nothing to go off of. Just knowledge of where the vast Galran Empire began, and that Shiro would be there. 

The Western Spike rose up on the horizon like a dark tower, mocking them as they came toward it’s foothills. 

“They say that the Alteans could defeat the Galra,” Lance said. “They say that their alchemists can summon spirits, and that they walk with the Goddess in their gardens.” 

“They say Galra dine with devils too,” Keith muttered. “I have yet to have one break bread with me.” 

Lance made a face at him. “Probably because you’re so rude that even a devil doesn’t want to.” 

Keith turned to fully respond, and saw that Lance was now standing ramrod straight, a knife sword reaching out from behind him to press at his neck. 

“No sudden moves,” a feminine voice called from behind Lance. “Or his throat is slit. “

The rest of them stopped, whatever Hunk and Pidge had been chattering about dead on their lips. Carefully Keith raised his hands in the air and tried to see who was holding Lance, but they were shrouded in a dark cloak. 

“We’re travelers,” he said slowly. “Merely passing through on our way to other things.” 

The figure shifted. “You’re passing awfully close to the Altean border. A Galra, two wizards, and a paladin. That does not a simple traveling party make.” The sword pressed harder against Lance’s neck and he squeaked. “Try again.” 

Keith took a steadying breath. “We are traveling north to the shoreline. We plan to follow it into Galra to save our friend, he was taken by them a month back.” 

“Does this friend of yours have a name?” 

He stiffened. Giving Shiro’s name out to a random hostile wasn’t something he wanted to do, but the sword at Lance’s neck was leaving him little choice. 

“Sir Shirogane,” Pidge said, her voice steady. “We seek to rescue Takashi Shirogane.”

There was no movement for a solid moment, then the sword was gone from Lance’s neck and the figure strode forward, cloak falling away to reveal a young woman with cloud-white hair and opaline eyes. “It is you,” she breathed. “I was beginning to think you would never show.” 

Lance’s eyes were just about out of his head staring at the woman. “P-pretty…”

“You’ve been waiting for us?” Keith shifted backward, not liking being this unprepared one bit.

The woman smiled, and despite his trepidation, it was kind. “Yes. I am Princess Allura of Altea. I was tasked by our oracles to find you and help you on your quest to save Sir Shirogane. I have been trying to find you for a week, and now that I have, we can be on our way.” 

She stepped past Keith and began walking in the opposite direction that they’d been going. 

“You know where Shiro is?” Keith sputtered, tripping to follow after her. 

“No,” she said evenly. “But our oracles gave me a heading—we must go to the Highfrost Mountains. There we will find the answers we seek.” She paused, and looked over her shoulder at Keith. “You do not trust me, Keith of the Swamplands, but you will.” 

He opened his mouth to say that he would certainly not, but she tossed something over her shoulder and he only just caught it, light as it was on the air. When he opened his palm a single four leaf clover was there, crisp and green. He nearly dropped it. “How—“

“The oracles said I needed to show you that, for you to trust that I was sent to help you,” Allura said softly. “It has great meaning to you?” 

“Yes.” Faith, hope, love, and luck. Keith looked at Allura, her Altean markings bright on her skin, eyes keen on Keith. “Okay, Princess. Lead on.” 

* * *

The Highfrost Mountains were treacherous and bordered the Galra Empire. It had taken them two weeks to get to the foothills alone, and now they were deep in the mountain pass. Keith wondered what even was out here in the mountains for them that Allura’s oracles had seen. 

He’d grown to genuinely like the princess over their weeks of travel. She was earnest and smart, and her summoning abilities came in handy when they were weary of travel by foot. She had cut their time to the mountains in half, regaling them with tales of Altea while they rode her summoned Dragon-kyn. Lance was besotted, and Keith tried to not begrudge them their whirlwind romance while his own heart ached. 

Something in the rocks caught Keith’s eye and he held a hand out. “Wait, something isn’t right.” 

“What do you mean—Ah!” Allura screamed as the rocks around them pulsed and began to bleed thick, black ooze. It poured out around them fast, like it was alive, moving in and around them until their legs were stuck in it, immobile. 

Hunk tried to bash at it with his hammer only to have that stuck into the goo as well. Lance’s sword yielded no better results. Keith was about to set the substance ablaze when a hooded figure leapt out in front of them, just beyond the ooze. 

“Trespassers,” the figure hissed. “You’ll be dealt with by the elders.” 

“Who are you!” Keith demanded. His right arm was still free and he whipped out his knife, brandishing it at the figure. “Release us!” 

The figured looked from Keith to the knife and snarled. “Galra thief! Regris! Thace! Take them!” 

Ooze continued to crawl up their bodies, and the last thing Keith saw was a hooded figure above him, muttering something about thieves in the mountains. 

Keith awoke on a cold stone floor, knelt there and held still by the black substance from the rocks. He looked to his left and saw his companions, all awake and unscathed save for the black ick that held them fast. 

“Trespassers and thieves.” 

Keith looked up to see more hooded figures standing before them in a dimly lit cavern. Each had a large sword strapped to their back, the hilt embedded with a stone and a familiar emblem. 

“We mean no offense,” Keith said steadily. “We meant not to trespass or take from your lands. We are travelers seeking a lost friend, nothing more.” 

“Lies.” The tallest figure walked forward, leering over Keith. “You have one of our blades, Galra. You have forged deep into our mountains. You seek something, and we will not provide.” 

“I seek only answers,” Keith said evenly. “My friend was taken by the Galra, I am not one of their rank, though I look their kind. Please, I do not know what we have done against you but we will seek to make it right.” 

“Yes!” Allura piped up. “I am Princess Allura of Altea, and I vouch for Keith. We are travelers on a quest to help Sir Shirogane from the clutches of the Galra Empire. Please, allow us passage through your lands.” 

The man crouch down and tilted Keith’s chin up with Keith’s own knife. 

“Give that back.” 

“Not until you tell us where you stole it from.” 

“I didn’t! I’ve had it all my life. Why don’t you tell me why your blades carry the same symbol!” He shouted, jutting his chin at the man’s sword. 

The man snorted and stood. “More lies. Throw them from the cliffs—“

“Wait.” 

The man turned, his hood facing another figure, slimmer, who came forward. “Wait, Kolivan.” The hood was pulled back to reveal a woman, tiefling, Galra looking, lilac skin and bright violet on ochre eyes. She knelt before Keith and he had to remind himself to breathe. 

It was like looking into a mirror. 

“There was once a girl,” the woman said slowly. “Who loved a human man, and left her home in the mountains for a time to be with him. She was called home to protect her people.” She put a hand out and the man carefully put the knife into her open palm. “But she left her blade, in case her son needed it while she was away.” 

“You—“

“The house was burned,” she said sorrowfully. “I thought I had lost you, Keith.” Her hand came up and touched his face, fingers shaking it. “Its you, isn’t it?”

“It’s me,” he said, tears choking him. It was unmistakable who this woman was. This beautiful, crying woman knelt before him. “It’s me, mom.” 

* * *

They spent the winter in Marmora. The collective was hidden in a valley that one could only access through secret tunnels deep within the mountains. There the Marmora had carved out their home from the stone, vaulted ceilings and deep caverns of knowledge that spanned generations. Once, they had been a part of Galra. Then Zarkon the mad Emperor had taken the throne and they broke off, secreting themselves completely in their hidden valley. 

Keith spent the months learning and training with his kin. He passed their trials and awoke his mother’s blade, was granted knowledge of their magic and ways. While scouting in the mountains with his uncles he rescued a young dire wolf, one that proved to be quite magical as it teleported around the valley. Keith trained to fight with it, Lance naming him Kosmo for his nearly blue fur. 

As Keith learned the ways of his people, his friends studied too. Allura had time now to teach Hunk and Pidge alchemy. Lance sparred with the Marmora, his skills with blade and bow both growing deeply. 

When the first thaws came, Keith’s mother led him to the scrying pool, where he cut his finger and prayed over his blood to find Shiro. 

The answer was swift and heartbreaking. Just over the very mountains they dwelt in, he was being held captive. Alive, but in great pain and suffering. Keith left the scrying pool weeping, but determined. When the passes were cleared, he would go to bring Shiro home. 

Dawn rose between the mountain peaks, light covering the valley cool and pale. Keith watched it with disinterest, mind swirling with the task ahead of him. 

Today they would cross the border into the Empire and make their way to the fortress Shiro was held at. It would take a day and then some to descend the mountain and sneak to the fortress. Shiro was so close Keith swore he could feel him, so close this entire time and Keith was here, unknowing.

It hurt, more than he cared to admit. 

A warm body sat beside him on the balcony ledge. He didn’t look to see who it was. 

“Are you ready?” Pidge asked. 

“He was so close,” Keith whispered. “This whole time we were training and waiting he was so close.” He wanted to kick himself. “If I’d studied harder—“

“Or gone in blind like we all know you would have, then this is not where Shiro would have been. And we’d all likely be dead.” Pidge turned, their eyes fierce. They had grown so much, in themselves and their prowess in the last years, becoming who they truly were. “This is the right time, Keith. We would have failed if it had been any other way.” 

Keith sucked in a lungful of the cold morning air. “I hate it when you’re right.” 

“Mmm.” Pidge knocked their shoulder against his. “You don’t. Come on, let’s go save the love of your life.” 

The trek out of the valley was easier than in, taking a northern pass down into the Galra home county and traveling by night to sneak into the fortress. It ended up a two day journey, fraught with close calls, but they camped at the edge of the nearby forest until nightfall, when the wild cheers of Galra soldiers went up, and their time to strike came. 

Allura cast glamorous strong over them all, and they walked into the fortress without much issue, only slaps on the back and cajoling about the betting pools that night. Keith kept himself rigid, feeling his knife at his hip and the magic deep in his veins. The fortress was well guarded, but they looked like any other soldiers to the guard’s eyes. At least enough that there were no questions as they made their way to the stand around the arena. 

Keith looked down at the dirt floor, muddied with blood already. There was the heaving carcass of a bear in the corner, still clinging to life despite the horrible wounds across it’s belly. He turned away from the carnage and sought out a spot to view from, waiting. 

Gladiator pits. That was what Shiro, the renown Paladin of the Goddess, had been brought to. Keith barely restrained the magic soaring through his veins. He wanted to level this place and the generals inside of it. 

The crowd roared, banging on the bars as the first wave of gladiators was brought out, most of them prisoners of war. Keith saw orcs and dwarves, other northern folk, all of them dressed in rags and little armor. Most of them carried weapons awkwardly at their sides. 

A crashing sound came from below them, again and again. A gate was lifted and a massive, stinking, hulking fiend crawled out, darting toward a gladiator and swallowing them whole in one go. 

The crowd went wild. Pidge discreetly reached for Keith’s hand and held it fast. 

The fight dragged on, three more gladiators taken down by the beast before a half-elf got the best of it and the fiend was put down for good. The survivors were led off the field in a grim line, most limping from wounds. 

All around them the crowd grew frantic, shouting and shoving forward. 

“Great Lords!” A disembodied voice shouted from somewhere down below. “We present to you now, from deep in the south, the fallen Paladin, the pride of Haggar, the Oathbreaker, we show you now, _The Champion!”_

Keith was slammed up against the railing as a lone figure walked out onto the field. Time slowed to a standstill around him, no noise, no color, nothing but the man in the arena. His hair had been shorn and his forelock had turned completely white. His arm was a mass of slick oil-black, inhuman and powerful. Regardless, it was Shiro. Keith steeled himself against the swell of emotion and focused on the man on the ground. Beside him he felt Lance and Hunk move into position. Still pressed close Pidge fumbled in their cloak, pulling out the protoplasm bombs they had made with Ulaz. Allura would be on the other side of the stand, ready to come down with her own magic when the time was right. 

Shiro stood in the middle of the arena, motionless, like a puppet being pulled along by some other force. Keith had to swallow against the heartbreak. _Soon_ , he thought, _I’ll have you out of here soon_. 

A great roar sounded from below them again, and this time when the fiend was released Keith had to grip himself hard to keep from swinging down into the arena with Shiro, to defend him. It was huge, all gnashing teeth and snarling rage. The thing stank like sulfur, and smoke curled at the sides of its mouth. 

Shiro made no reaction to the beast, but when it charged Shiro was quick as lightning—brutal and precise. The crowd soared with him, each hit against the beast sending them into a new frenzy. For a moment it seemed that Shiro would be at the mercy of the fiend, his sword ripped from his grip. Keith held his breath with the crowd, but then Shiro stepped back, a half jog, and extended his right arm. It was still covered in black, but as he stood with it stretched taught Keith realized what had really transpired. 

Shiro’s arm _was_ the black oil. It had been replaced with something dark, something magic. Something that was now hardening to a point, like black steel and ramming right for the fiend. It made contact at the base of the beast’s skull and with a sickening crunch Shiro drove his arm-blade home. Ichor bubbled out from the wound and the beast fell hard on the sand, black blood spewing out along the ground. 

Cries of triumph went up all around them, but Shiro merely pulled his arm out of the beasts body. A guard walked out, holding Shiro’s sword in a trembling hand. Keith had to hide his reaction as Shiro took the sword and slashed the guard down, still in kill mode. 

Shiro jerked, and then his face went passive, like he was waiting for instruction, blank as a new canvas. 

Keith was so sick with what he was seeing that didn’t hear the first shouts, or the next flurry of punches. It wasn’t until Pidge elbowed him hard in the ribs that he registered that Lance and Hunk had started their distraction. Behind him a fight was breaking out. He made to slip over to the blocked off set of stairs that led down to the arena, was nearly there, when someone slammed into his back and he went flying, flaming into the railing. 

The brawling mob him didn’t care, but the man in the arena stopped to watch Keith. Suddenly he was racing toward where Keith was, black arm raised, the darkness of it reaching for the bars. Keith barely shifted back in time for Shiro’s arm to rip the bars apart, leaving a wide open path between them. 

The fighting at Keith’s back slammed into him again, sending him sprawling into the area, sliding on ichor and blood to end up just before Shiro. He looked up at the face of the man he loved, and prayed. 

“Shiro,” Keith whispered, pulling down the red cloth that covered the lower half of his face. “Shiro it’s me,” he said, hoping his voice didn’t carry. “It’s Keith.” 

Shiro made no sign of recognition. He simply pulled up his sword, and advanced on Keith. 

“Shiro, please,” Keith said. He still had his knife, but he couldn’t do this. It wasn’t what he planned, it wasn’t what he ever wanted. “Don’t do this.”

Shiro raised his sword and swung, the blade falling hard and fast toward Keith. He barely had the time to parry with his knife, unwilling to transform it just yet in case the general in attendance understood the sigil. 

Shiro didn’t stop his onslaught, pushing against Keith until Keith nearly buckled to his knees. Shiro’s eyes, this close, glowed a faint purple color at the center. 

Possessed. 

Keith managed to parry the sword away from Shiro, slashing him back into a defensive stance. 

Shiro buckled and the blackness over his arm crawled, boiling and reaching until it covered up to his shoulder, fueling the mad glint in his eyes. He charged, howling like an animal enraged as he slammed into Keith.

Keith looked to the arm, back to Shiro, and raged, his voice loud and howling over the din of noise in the arena. There was fighting all around him, he could see that now, the mob had spread beyond the small pocket, and if he listened, he could hear protoplasm bombs going off. He’d pushed Shiro back enough to create a few feet of space between them, Shiro staring him down like another target, empty and focused. 

“Shiro, please,” Keith begged, letting the knife at his side extend into a full blade. “I don’t want to hurt you.” 

“You don’t have a choice,” Shiro intoned, his voice devoid of all emotion. He sprang forward and Keith met his blade with luxite, sparks flying around them from the meeting metal. 

Shiro was relentless, hacking at Keith like he wanted nothing more than to see Keith ravaged into tiny pieces. He couldn’t fight back like that, he couldn’t risk hurting Shiro, not when he was already so hurt. 

Keith had forgotten there were still carcasses littering the arena ground, and tripped over the smaller fiend, landing hard on his back. He was nearly up when Shiro landed beside him from a jump, bearing down on him with his arm, abandoning the sword entirely. Keith parried just in time, blade coming up to stop the hard black of Shiro’s arm. 

“Give up,” Shiro growled. Braced as he was over Keith, Keith could just see under Shiro’s leather armor and shirt. A dark chord hung there around his neck, trailing down.

“No,” Keith breathed. He pushed back with all he had. “Shiro please. _I love you_.” 

Shiro faltered, just for a moment, but it was long enough for Keith to surge up, awaken his blade and slice through Shiro’s arm, severing the blackened mage-flesh from his body. Shiro cried out and fell back to his knees, Keith standing in the wake, staring down at him. 

Around them chaos reigned. There was shouting and mass fighting, the stands a writhing melee. Keith heard more than saw his friends, amassing at the preordained escape route, bombs going off behind them. 

On his knees, Shiro looked up at Keith, forlorn and broken. “Keith?” 

“KEITH COME ON!” 

Spurred into action, Keith lunged forward and grabbed Shiro’s remaining arm, hauling him up and dragging him toward where Pidge was screaming for him. He heard the booming commands of the generals above them, but there was no sound of chase—they were immobilized by the chaos or Pidge’s bombs, or both, it didn’t matter. 

Keith whistled once, loudly, and Kosmo burst into being ahead of him. Together they raced to the rest of the group and when they were all within reach the wolf teleported them away, the sound of battle snapping out of their ears, replaced with the silence of the forest, and distant shouting muffled by tree trunks. 

“Gods,” Lance heaved. “Did we all make it?” Beside him Hunk was heaving into the underbrush. 

“We made it,” Allura said, her own voice strained. 

Pidge was at Keith’s side, hands hovering over Shiro. “Oh gods, _gods_ , Shiro?”

“I’m here,” Shiro rasped. “I… I think I’m here.” His eyes rolled into the back of his head and he collapsed to the ground. 

“Shiro!” 

It was slow going with Shiro that first night and into the next day. It wasn’t until they were solidly in the foothills that they stopped to rest. Hunk eased Shiro down off his back, Keith catching him in his arms as he was lowered. 

“Any change?” Hunk asked, leaning over Shiro’s prone from. 

Keith shook his head. “No, doesn’t seem to be. I’ll keep watch over him tonight.” He held Shiro while camp was set up, doing his best not to fret over the bandage that was already soaked through with blood on the stump of his arm. Allura had cast healing magic over it many times, but still it bled. 

The firelight was dim in the shelter of the rock outcropping they had ferreted under. Thus far there had been no move from the Galra to follow them, but it didn’t mean retaliation wasn’t coming. Pidge and Lance set up first watch, while the rest huddled around the fire, Hunk cooking them a meager stew off a hare he’d shot. 

Keith took Shiro father from the camp, sequestering them a bit from the rest. He laid Shiro out on the thin pallet and took the stump of Shiro’s arm into his lap, carefully undoing the bandages. “I’m sorry,” Keith whispered. “Shiro, I’m so sorry.” The bloody end of the arm was a mess. He could see where bone had shattered and muscle was torn. He did his best to staunch where Allura’s magic and grown weak, but there was too much open wound. Keith took out his knife and stared at it, then at the fire. There was a way. 

He let Shiro’s arm back down and extended his arm, sticking the knife deep into the flame. 

“What are you doing?” Allura asked, leaning forward. 

Keith stayed by the fire, watching his blade heat and turn a bright, molten color. It wouldn’t grow soft, he knew that only dragon fire or the magic forges of the Marmoran blacksmiths could do that, but it was a bright orange when he pulled it from the flame. “What I can to stop the bleeding,” he said gravely. 

Taking Shiro’s arm back carefully into his lap, he pulled the blade back and pressed the thickest part of the flat of it to Shiro’s arm. The air filled with the smell of burning flesh as the wound was cauterized. 

On the ground Shiro screamed. 

“I’m sorry,” Keith repeated. “Shiro, I’m so sorry.” He held the blade for the requisite count and then eased it away, the flesh below it a blackened mess. He let the sword fall and quickly started chanting the spell Ulaz had taught him. At the time he’d thought it was stupid to learn it—if a limb was lost there was little chance that he would be the one healing it with Allura around. But this wound had severed poisoned flesh from the body, and that was taking more than healing magic alone. 

When Keith was finished the skin was still burned black, but it was all skin there, open stump finally closed over. The flesh would scab and peel, leaving only the scar. Keith slumped, finally able to relax about the lost limb. 

“Keith?” 

He was afraid to look up, afraid that the glow would not have faded from those sterling eyes, but when he chanced it, it was Shiro looking at him, face open and confused. “Keith? Is that you?” 

“Shiro,” he breathed. He couldn’t help but reach a hand out and brush it through Shiro’s hair. “It’s me. It’s me, Shiro.” 

“What happened?” Shiro asked, voice hoarse. “Where… where are we?” 

“We’re on our way to Marmora,” Keith said. “We broke you out of Sendak’s fortress.” 

“You… you broke me out… but I was, with Haggar and, my arm…” he looked over and his eyes went wide, body tensing. “What, Keith, _my arm_.” 

“Hey,” Keith sidled around so he could support Shiro as he tried to sit up to look at the ruin of his right arm. “Hey, I’m here. I’m here, Shiro, I’m so, so sorry.” 

“I…” Shiro kept staring at the stump, speaking like he was in a different place, removed from the reality in front of him. “She… the witch she… injected something and it turned… but it was _there_.” 

Keith closed his eyes and prayed his friend would understand. “I had to take it off,” he whispered. “Shiro it was… I think she was controlling you, through the arm. I… I didn’t know what else to do. I’m sorry, Shiro.” 

Shiro stared at the spot his arm should have been, breath still uneven in his chest. “Oh. Oh…” He slumped back into Keith, all the fight leaving his body. “Keith. Keith I’m so tired.” 

“Then rest, Shiro,” Keith said, grateful that his friend wasn’t pushing him away in this moment. 

“You found me,” Shiro whispered. 

“Always,” Keith promised. “I will always find you, Shiro.” 

They made it back to the Marmorans the next day at dusk, greeted by a caravan of Blades, each taking stock of the party and their injuries, which aside from Shiro were few. He was carted onto a stretcher and taken straight to Ulaz, who bent over him with potions and charms until both he, Allura, and Keith had bloodshot eyes. 

Shiro had screamed through most of it. 

Keith had hoped, slumped against a wall while Shiro was looked over once more by Ulaz, that it would be the end of their trials for the day. Then Kolivan had walked in and he knew they were far from over. He refused to leave Shiro during his questioning, and when night had settled over the valley, Kolivan finally relented and let them leave.

The night felt truly still, for once. Despite the hustle of the valley that usually went on long into small hours, here in his quarters time slowed to a crawl, soft quiet seeping deep into the corners of his rooms, like the very air they breathed knew the need for respite. 

Keith realized now, looking at his single yet spacious, bed, that Shiro may have wanted his own quarters for the night. He cleared his throat. “I ah, didn’t think. I can take you to a guest suite, if you’d rather, help you out there so you can rest—“

“No,” Shiro croaked. “Don’t leave me, please.” 

Keith looked up at him, at his tired, haunted eyes, desperate as they stared back at Keith. “Okay.” 

“Thank you,” Shiro said, tension he was still holding bleeding out of him. “I don’t think I can be alone right now.” 

Keith looked at his bed, freshly made and calling loudly to his aching bones. But he was still covered in battle grime and the fussing of their physicians. Shiro was no better, still clothed in the tattered shirt and trousers he’d been wearing in the arena and their two nights on the road. 

“Come on,” he muttered, hoisting them both up from the slouch they’d fallen into and headed for the bathroom. Shiro trotted along willingly, barely making any noise as they went. 

In the bathroom, lamps lit low, Keith found himself stopping again, unsure of how best to proceed. They needed to wash, they needed to rest, but getting them there was a tangle of sword-point confessions and long curated emotions he wasn’t sure he could navigate well, or at all, in this moment. 

His panic was interrupted by a soft sound of pain from Shiro, where he was popped against Keith, eyes half mast and body barely holding itself up. It all became frighteningly simple then, what needed to be done. 

Gingerly, Keith set Shiro down on the stool next to his wide bathtub and began to remove the rags he was in, peeling them all back one by one, going slow around the still healing wounds. He did his best not to keep tally of all the scars he unearthed as he went. 

“What are you doing?” Shiro asked in that still soft, croaking voice. 

“Taking care of you,” Keith told him simply. He rested his hands on Shiro’s now bare knees, rubbing his thumbs over the bones there. His body was nothing but muscle and bone, hard harsh lines crosshatched with battle marks. “Let me take care of you Shiro,” he beseeched. He rose and removed the rest of what Shiro was wearing, the man beneath his fingertips shaking as he did. The carved clover rested against Shiro’s chest, worn, but unbroken. Keith gingerly removed that as well, laying it carefully by the bath. He removed his own clothes quickly, dropping them into a pile with Shiro’s rags. 

Keith filled the bath with warm water, pouring some of the cleansing oils into the swirling water. While it filled he took a washcloth and dipped it in, intending to get the bulk of the dirt, sweat, and blood off of them before sinking them both into the water. 

He started on Shiro in slow, broad strokes over his back, his arms and ribs, careful of the places only just stitched up by Ulaz, and the still healing stump where the magic arm had been. He cupped his hands in the water and poured it over Shiro’s hair, massaging out the stiff ends of it. He couldn’t look at Shiro as he cleaned him, the moment too intimate for Keith to face dead on, but as he washed Shiro’s feet a noise made him look up. 

Shiro’s lip was trembling, eyes misty as he looked down. “Keith,” he whispered. The emotion packed into the single word nearly bowled Keith over. “Why? No one has… for so long now I’ve been…”

Keith stared up at him, hand cupping the back of Shiro’s calf. He rubbed the skin there with his thumb, resisting the urge to kiss the inside of his knee. Later, they could sort through that later. “Let me take care of you,” Keith repeated. “I want to take care of you, Shiro.”

Shiro closed his eyes, two tears streaking down his face. He didn’t say no, or ask Keith to stop. When Keith was finished wiping his own body down and stooped to pick Shiro up, Shiro looped his arms tight around Keith’s neck, letting Keith manhandle him into the tub. Keith made to get in on the opposite side of the large bath, but Shiro scooted forward and pulled Keith in behind him. 

Shiro curled into Keith, sinking into his embrace and crying in earnest as they sat there in the fragrant water. Keith ran his hands over Shiro, every inch he could reach, soothing and massaging away the pain and tension as best he could, holding onto him like Keith had dreamed of for years. 

They stayed until the water grew tepid, then cool, skin wrinkled with the length of their soak. Keith got out first, digging out towels and doing a quick once over of himself so he could get back to Shiro. He helped him out of the tub and wrapped Shiro up in as much warmth as he could, patting the water away until Shiro’s skin was dry and pink. 

They didn’t bother with the pile of old clothes, Keith only scooping the wood clover from the floor, and stumbled naked back out into Keith’s bedroom. Keith pulled them both down into the covers and soft mattress, cocooning them in warmth. Shiro pulled at him, eyes still wet with emotion, and Keith curled around him, holding him close and comforting him as sobs again wracked Shiro’s body. 

“You’re safe,” Keith cooed. “You’re safe, and cared for, and loved Shiro.” 

Shiro cried harder. 

Keith wasn’t sure when they fell asleep, but they did. He could tell by the awkward sprawl of their limbs, entangled completely, the deep heaviness of his body as he tried to move it and found that it no longer wanted to cooperate at all. 

His head was dense with sleep, the hard kind of sleep that left you just as exhausted as before and wanting nothing more than to chase back into deep, soft oblivion. 

Shiro was still out cold, softly snoring against Keith. He had at one point been solidly nuzzled into Keith’s shoulder but now he was almost smashed into Keith’s armpit. Keith was very glad they had bathed before crawling into bed. 

Carefully, with as little disturbance he could manage, he extracted himself from the tangle of their bodies. It was slow going as not to wake Shiro, but morning needs called, and at length Keith was able to get up and relieve himself. He padded back to the bed, climbing in and curling on his side next to Shiro, just looking at him. 

His hair looked like starlight now, transformed utterly from all the healing magic. The scars on his body were more than Keith ever remembered him having during their years together at Holt’s keep. He wanted to trace each one and make the pain they carried fade, disappear from Shiro’s life—he’d deserved none of this. 

Instead Keith found himself spreading a tentative hand over Shiro’s chest, over his heart, to feel the steady beat there and the heat under his skin. He was real, and whole as he could be, and alive. That thought was a mantra in Keith’s mind as he watched Shiro slumber on. 

He didn’t know how long it was between getting back into bed and Shiro waking, face scrunching a bit and eyes slowly opening to see Keith watching him. His face as blank with sleep at first, until recognition seeped into his eyes and he sighed. 

“It was real,” he whispered. 

“Real,” Keith agreed. 

Shiro brought his hand up to curl over Keith’s, holding it tight. “You found me.” 

Keith smiled, pressing his fingers in against Shiro’s heartbeat. “I would do it again. As many times as it takes, Shiro. I will always bring you home to me.” He licked his lips. “Or anywhere, really, I don’t mean to make you feel indebted to me.” He laughed. “It’s really the other way around.” 

“You have never owed me anything, Keith,” Shiro whispered. “You kept me safe, even when I wasn’t able to save myself.” Shiro’s gaze flicked up to between their pillows, where the wood clover rested between them. “Did you know there was a charm on it?” 

Keith frowned and followed Shiro’s gaze. “What?”

Letting go of Keith’s hand, Shiro reached for the pendant and bought it between their faces, turning it over in his fingers. “I didn’t think so,” he said with a soft smile. “When you made this, you must have been hoping to protect me, or give me luck, something, because it’s charmed. They couldn’t take it from me, and in those darkest moments, when I touched it, it reminded me of who I was. Why I had to fight and try and get back to the light.” Shiro brought the clover to his lips, his eyes trained on Keith. “If there was ever anything you owed to me, it has already been repaid more times than I can count.” 

“You still owe me nothing,” Keith said, now keenly aware of where they were and how it might look to Shiro, who was still coming back to himself. 

“I know.” Shiro put the pendant back between them and moved to cup Keith’s cheek instead, a mirror of how he had a year past. “But this is the one place I hoped to be, should the gods be kind and grant me a second chance.” He rubbed his thumb along Keith’s cheek. “I should have told you before I left. I’m sorry I wasn’t brave enough to.” 

Keith closed his eyes. “You’re the bravest man I know.” 

“Not with you,” Shiro said. “I was so scared of what was growing between us. I didn’t want to mess anything up.” 

He took a deep breath and opened his eyes again, seeking Shiro’s. “Be brave for me now. Please, Shiro, because my heart is still scared that this is all a dream and that you’re still so far—“ 

Shiro surged forward and pressed his lips to Keith’s, sure and steady. Keith whimpered into the kiss and fell to it, arching into Shiro’s embrace, skin to skin. 

They kissed like starving men, like the others air was filling each other’s lung. Shiro was halting, lips chapped, breath short, but Keith rose to meet him, to take the lead where Shiro stumbled. They curled into each other, Keith half sprawled over Shiro, legs entwined under sheets. Shiro’s hand mapped Keith’s body and face, touching every inch he could get, like Keith was the only thing he ever wanted to remember feeling. 

His fingers brushed through Keith’s hair, glancing a horn and Keith gasped into their kiss, a delicious shudder running down his spine. 

Shiro smirked and pressed his mouth to Keith’s jaw. “Sensitive?” 

“Gods, _yes_ ,” Keith moaned. Shiro was running the flat of his palm over the base of one now, awakening a deep desire in Keith. “Shiro, Shiro if you don’t stop I—ah!” He had to feel it, Keith’s cock, hard and leaking against Shiro’s hip. 

“Want it,” Shiro whispered. “Want you, Keith. Please.” Shiro canted his hips up, his own cock pressing against Keith’s stomach. “Make me feel.” 

Keith snarled and buried his face in Shiro’s neck, marking it wantonly as he slotted their hips together, hand tracing down to take them both. It was inelegant, with more shuffling and repositioning than Keith would have wanted, but they were raw with need. He came first, kissing Shiro, with one hand braced over his heart. It took longer for Shiro to come, Keith whispering sweet, filthy praise in his ear as he brought him over the edge. 

Keith cleaned them off with a towel from the bathroom and curled back into Shiro’s side, peppering soft kisses over what skin he could reach. Shiro hummed and snuggled close. 

“I love you,” Shiro said quietly. 

Keith looked up at him and saw the love in Shiro’s warm eyes. “I love you too,” he said. 

There were good days and bad as Shiro recovered. Moments, even full days, passed when Shiro was himself and working toward healing. But the dark days were not few, and more than once Keith had spent them in bed by Shiro’s side as he fought his demons. Those moments would never totally fade, and Keith steeled himself for reminding Shiro that he would not leave him regardless. No matter how loudly Shiro screamed. 

Ulaz and Pidge, with help from Allura, made Shiro a false arm of steel and magic. It worked better than they had hoped, and Shiro demonstrated just how pleased he was with it on Keith that very night. As spring bloomed into early summer, they recovered and looked to leaving the valley back to the fight further south. 

It was on a late night, the six of them around the fire after a fine supper, that Allura leaned forward, her face pinched into a frown. 

“I have a confession to make,” she said slowly. “When we met, the first time at the base of the West Spike, I was not completely truthful in what I told you all.”

Lance put his hand on her shoulder, and tried to catch her gaze with his smile. “Whatever it is, you can tell us Allura. You’re one of us now, and we won’t hold it against you. Will we?” 

“No,” Pidge said, sure as the sun. 

Hunk shook his head. “Never, you’re like out sister. Well except to Lance, but still.” 

“Whatever it is, Allura,” Keith said, “we’ll listen and help however we can.” 

Shiro chimed in. “That’s right, we’re a team.” 

Allura’s lips quirked up and she sat straight. “Our oracles sent me to find you all, to help with Shiro’s rescue, for a reason.” She reached her hand out and the fire they were sat around turned white. In its center the shape of something began to form. Six somethings to be exact. “I was tasked with finding you all, and bringing us together. You see, Shiro and Lance are not the only Paladins among us. It was Seen, that we six are the Lions of the Goddess. Together we must continue East, deep past these mountains, and awaken the ancient power known as Voltron.” 

“For what purpose?” Shiro asked. He was leaning so close to the fire now Keith worried he might tip into it. In the flames the shape of a lion, glowing white, reached similarly, it’s snout nearly touching Shiro. Behind it the black lion looked on, and Keith felt like it’s eyes were on him. 

“To defeat the Empire, and end Zarkon’s reign,” Allura said. “I understand if you all are angry with me, or if you do not want to follow this task set ahead of us—“

“I’m in.” Lance said without hesitation. 

“Me too,” Pidge said. 

Shiro looked to Keith, eyebrow raised. Keith smirked. “We’ll be by your side, Princess.” 

“We just ended the other quest! And now we’ve got this one?” Hunk sighed. “Man guys. I’m going to have to pack so much food. You know that these mountains just get more sparse right?” 

“But you’re coming, right Hunk?” Lance asked. 

Hunk threw his arms out. “Of course I’m coming! Altean oracles sent a princess to gather us and go awaken some mystic ancient power? Yeah, can’t say no to that.” 

Shiro laughed and put an arm around Keith. “Well then, I guess it’s time to form Voltron.” 


End file.
